


Gift Horse

by misspamela



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	Gift Horse

Dr. Rodney McKay, Chief Scientist and Head of Research at GeniiCorp, the West Coast's largest software company, turned 35 on a brisk November Friday. The party took place at the ritzy hotel that GeniiCorp used for their official functions. It made sense, really. Rodney was as much company property as anything else in the building.

The party was predictably swank: cool women in columnar dresses, men in discreetly tailored tuxedoes, clinking glasses and sparkling jewels, all shifting and twirling around the ballroom. Rodney hated everything about it except for the carving station and the little chocolate mousse thingys.

He stalked up to his assistant, who was downing a flute of champagne next to an eerily accurate ice sculpture depicting the GeniiCorp logo. "Radek!" Rodney hissed.

"Hello, Mr. Guest of Honor." Radek raised his eyebrows. "I am surprised you are still here."

"I can't leave. I tried and Elizabeth gave me a lecture about gratitude that, frankly, I could have done without."

"Yes, because you are already so grateful," Radek said, chuckling.

Rodney scanned the ballroom for potential obstacles. "Do you want to go hide in the men's room?"

"Charming offer, but I am afraid I will have to decline." Radek tilted his head to look past Rodney's shoulder. "You have company."

"Hey, birthday boy!" Acastus Kolya walked up and slapped Rodney on the back. "Are you enjoying your little party?" Kolya always punctuated his small talk with physical violence.

"Lovely. Are the speeches done?" Rodney checked his watch. "I have a date with my couch."

"Speaking of which..." Kolya grinned. Board member or no, Rodney hated it when Kolya smiled. It gave him the willies.

"We have another gift for you." Rodney hadn't seen Cowen, the Chairman of the Board walk up, but he was never far behind Kolya. Cowen was an old-boys'-club crony since infancy. He hated that his company's greatest asset was a queer, misanthropic, badly-dressed Canadian, but Rodney's brains (as usual) trumped all.

Radek shot Rodney a horrified look at the thought of Cowen giving Rodney a present of his own free will, then scampered off. Little Czech bastard probably is going to hide in the _men's room_ , Rodney thought, without much bitterness. He'd run himself, if he had the chance.

Instead, he mustered his best smirk and said, "Strippers, Cowen? That's a little unoriginal, don't you think? I thought you were a little more," he sketched a square in the space in front of him with his fingers, "out of the box. Besides, I'm not exactly interested in a parade of silicone breasts, if you know what I mean."

Kolya smiled even wider, kick-starting a _cascade_ of uneasiness through Rodney's nervous system. The orchestra suddenly sounded distorted, strange. He punched Rodney in the arm. "Why don't you go home, Dr. McKay? I think you'll like what you find."

That was pretty much all the invitation Rodney needed. He rushed out of the ballroom, almost forgetting his damned coat – how do you lose a coatroom ticket in a _tuxedo_ , for God's sake? – and crashing full-body into Dr. Kavanagh on his way through the revolving door. Brushing off any attendant cooties, he waved frantically to his driver, Ronon.

Rodney got in and panted, "Home."

"I know." Ronon turned out of the driveway.

"Kolya and Cowen got me a present. It's at home." Rodney closed his eyes against visions of circus animals in his living room. Or, worse yet, some hideous piece of modern sculpture. Kolya had a thing in his office that looked like a demented guillotine. Rodney shuddered.

Rodney could see Ronon raise one eyebrow in the rear-view mirror. "Creepy."

They pulled up the long, winding road that served as Rodney's driveway. There were perks to being obscenely rich, and privacy was the one that Rodney took advantage of as often as he could.

Flicking the ignition off, Ronon paused before getting out. "Want me to go with you?"

"Yes, of course," Rodney snapped.

He let Ronon open the front door. Rodney could see the flickering of his fireplace dancing across the rug. Ronon stopped short in front of him. "Oof!" Rodney smacked into a solid wall of muscle.

"Uh, goodnight, Dr. McKay," Ronon muttered and pushed past him back out the door – was he _laughing_?

"Fine! Thanks! Some bodyguard you are!" Rodney called. He stepped into the living room.

That's when he saw the guy lounging on his couch.

Really, the surprising thing wasn't that the guy had gotten into his house. It wasn't that the guy was ridiculously good-looking, with artfully styled hair and a charming grin. It wasn't even that the guy had somehow found his best brandy and was hello, _making himself at home_. It was that the guy was wearing a rich, Merlot-colored silk robe. And not a whole lot else.

"Who the hell are you?" Rodney asked.

"John. John Sheppard." The guy smiled, effortless and totally practiced. "Your friends at work…procured me." He offered Rodney a snifter. "Happy Birthday."

"Good God." Rodney tossed back the brandy.

"I take it you were expecting a pony?"

"Very funny." Rodney walked around the guy, looking him up and down. "Aren't you a little old to be a rentboy?"

"I prefer gigolo." John crossed his arms. "And how old do you think I _am_ , anyway?"

"Gigolo. How classy." Rodney leafed through a pile of mail on the table. "Not that I actually was expecting men of ill repute in my living room, but if I _was_ , I'd be expecting your average West Hollywood twink."

"Well, I can always call the agency if I'm not to your taste." John smiled in a way that seemed to be cheerfully telling him to fuck off.

"If only." It was uncanny. John was a little _too_ to his taste. As appealing as Mr. Charming was, he was Kolya's gift and not to be trusted. "Listen, contrary to popular opinion, I _do_ have standards, and one of them is to not pay for sex. So, thank you, but no thank you." Rodney looked pointedly at the door. "You do have clothes, don't you?"

"Yeah," John said, hesitating. "Listen, I was paid and, well," he looked down at the floor. "I don't want to get in trouble."

"Oh, God." Rodney started pacing around the room. "Is your _pimp_ going to beat you up? Does that really happen? Okay, here." He jabbed a finger at an open door to the left of the cavernous living room. "Guest room. You can stay the night. Bathroom is next door. Don't touch my laptop, don't disturb my sleep, and don't steal anything."

"Yes, sir. I shall refrain from petty larceny, sir." John snapped a fairly accurate salute.

"Hey, that's pretty good," Rodney said. "Ex-military?"

"Yeah, a long time ago." John reached behind Rodney's couch and pulled out a black duffel that Rodney hadn't noticed. "Hey, I really appreciate this."

"Don't think it means I'm taking you in or anything. It's just been a long night." Rodney rubbed his forehead. He was exhausted. "And I have to be up early to send a few scathing emails to Kolya."

"Well, I won't bother you." John walked up to Rodney slowly, the silk stretching and pulling tantalizingly with the motion of his legs. He took a sip of brandy, and Rodney watched, frozen, as John licked his lips before putting the snifter down on Rodney's desk. "Are you sure you don't want a turn? I don't mind. You've been really nice to me."

"Nice?" Rodney backed up against the wall. "Me? No, I was just, you know, I didn't want you to get in trouble and –"

John reached up and touched the side of Rodney's face. Rodney shivered. John's palm was so warm and _God_ , all Rodney had to do was say _yes_ and he could have this.

"Thank you," John murmured.

"Um," Rodney croaked out. This had been a really, really long night.

Leaning in, John brushed his lips across Rodney's temple. "Happy Birthday."

"I – bedroom." Rodney pushed John away, trying not to pay attention to the feel of muscle and skin and silk. "Me, not you, well, you to _your_ bedroom and me to _my_ bedroom, or I'm going to lose control of what few morals I have left."

"Goodnight, Dr. McKay," John called, as Rodney retreated into his bedroom.

Rodney didn't even bother getting undressed. He just kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket on the floor, and flopped on the bed. What a fucking day. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that there wasn't a gigolo in his guest bedroom.

He'd better not touch the laptop.

>>>

After pulling on a pair of boxers, John dragged his duffel into the guest bedroom. The room was pristinely decorated in muted browns and blues, and John had the feeling that only the attentions of a dedicated housekeeper kept it from being covered in an inch of dust. It bore a resemblance to every Holiday Inn on the planet, a fact that John found strangely comforting.

McKay probably didn't get a lot of guests. John smiled to himself. Not if he treated them all like he treated John. And, even though John couldn't blame McKay for trying to kick him to the curb, John had a feeling that he was like that to a lot of people.

When John was hired, Kolya told him, "McKay probably hasn't been on a date since the last _Star Trek_ movie came out." The real Rodney McKay was pretty far from John's mental image of Coke-bottle glasses and adult acne. But then, John's last real date was during the Clinton era, so he had no room to judge.

Rolling his shoulders, John stretched his neck. The silk of the robe shifted across his body, causing goosebumps to prickle along his arms. He felt restless. John let one hand skim down the front of his boxers, letting his mind drift. It wouldn't have been such a bad thing if McKay had agreed… _Snap out of it, Sheppard_ , he told himself. _You're lonely. Get a cat._

John checked his watch. It was midnight. _Twenty-four hours to go_ , he thought. He found his cell tucked into the bottom of the bag. Flipping it open, he made sure it was in silent mode, then hit the first number on his speed-dial.

"Teyla?" John whispered. "I'm in."

>>>

The next morning, Rodney woke up with a pounding headache and a desperate need for coffee. He stumbled into the bathroom, tossed back a few aspirin, took care of business, and went into the kitchen, where—

"'Aaaaaah!"

"I'm just making coffee. There's no need to scream." John said mildly, stirring the grounds in the French press.

"Of course you are. What else would you be doing? Except, I don't know, leaving?" Rodney was not used to sharing his morning time with other people. Particularly attractive, scruffy, paid-for-sex people.

"Sorry, did you not want coffee?" John asked.

"Don't be stupid. Of course I want coffee." Rodney grabbed the steaming mug from John's hand before he could retract the offer.

"So," John said. "Tell me about yourself."

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" Rodney sniffed. Was that cinnamon?

"I made some french toast. Hope you don't mind." John opened the oven and took some plates down from the cabinet.

"Well, no, I…you were going to tell me about yourself." Rodney clutched the mug closer. This morning was not going as planned. He needed fortification.

"Me? Not much to tell. I like college football, Ferris wheels, and things that go over 200 miles an hour." John deftly poured syrup over the toast. "Voila."

"That's it? You sound like a personal ad. Or 'Mr. December 2003.'"

"Nah, I'm much better looking." John grinned and sat down across from Rodney. "So what do you do at GeniiCorp? Must be something really important."

Well, gigolo or not, Rodney had to give John Sheppard credit for his powers of observation. He launched into what he called the "encryption for dummies" lecture, and, surprisingly, John seemed to catch right on, asking reasonably intelligent questions and not really losing interest. It was kind of nice, actually. Nobody liked to listen to Rodney talk about his work, including most of the people _at_ work.

"And do you work for Kolya?" John asked.

"Do I _look_ like a masochist? No." Rodney finished up his breakfast. "I work," he said, through a mouthful of food, "for Elizabeth Weir, the president."

"Ah."

"Speaking of which, I gotta check my email. I can't believe I waited this long." Rodney unlocked his briefcase, took out his laptop, booted up, and logged in. The ritual was reassuringly normal, after the strangeness of the last twenty-four hours. Still, Rodney wasn't in as much of a hurry to get rid of Sheppard. He was a good listener, a good cook, and easy on the eyes.

As if he could hear Rodney's thoughts, John came up behind him and placed a hand on the back of his neck. "Stand up," he said.

"What?" Rodney turned around.

"Come here." John pulled him up and kissed him full on the mouth, his lips scraping against Rodney's until Rodney opened up for him. God, it was as good as Rodney imagined it would be. Maybe he really _wasn'_ t too old to be a hooker. Somehow, the thought of paying for sex wasn't looking nearly as sleazy as it did last night. It must have something to do with all the sunshine. And the french Toast. John pushed him against the table, jostling the laptop.

"Hey! Careful!" Rodney turned to grab it, but John pulled him closer.

Rodney kissed him again, but pulled away. "No, this isn't a good idea."

"I'm not getting paid," John said. He worked his hands under Rodney's t-shirt and bit his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around Rodney's waist, John steered him toward the bedroom. Rodney thought about fighting, but John was wiry and flexible. With lots of muscles. Very, very nice muscles.

"Wh-what?" Rodney had basically no willpower left. What was he doing with his _hands_?

"I'm not getting paid. Kolya only paid me for last night. This is a freebie, just because I like you."

"You do?" Rodney yanked off John's boxers, without thinking about what he was doing.

"Yeah, I do." John pushed Rodney on the bed and seriously, Rodney was only human, here. He had _limits_.

"You know what? I don't care if you like me or not." Rodney flopped back in submission. "Do your worst."

>>>

"Actually," John drawled. "I thought I'd do my best." He knelt down and straddled Rodney, trying not to let his knees slide off the edge of the bed. _What would a real prostitute do?_ John asked himself.

Thankfully, according to Rodney, he hadn't actually been with a prostitute before, so he didn't know what to expect. And John hadn't – he let his hands grip the muscles of Rodney's shoulders and moaned – he hadn't done this in a really long time.

Rodney's room was a jumble of laundry, paper, and electronics that swirled around John as he struggled to get back in control. He just had to keep Rodney occupied long enough for that little device he'd planted on Rodney's laptop to work – if it worked.

Pulling himself back to the task at hand, John leaned down to kiss Rodney, forgetting that prostitutes probably don't kiss. Rodney didn't seem to care, though. He moaned into John's mouth, his hands reaching up to grasp John's face.

John hitched his hips against Rodney involuntarily and shuddered. _Control_ , he told himself. Rodney was a nice guy. There was no need to go too far; that would be wrong, that would be… _holy fuck_. Rodney's hands had worked their way up his thighs, stroking him, coming maddeningly close to his hard cock.

Rodney gripped his cock and John lurched forward, fighting for control. He reached out blindly, raking his nails down Rodney's chest and stomach. Rodney hissed in a breath and tightened his grip, causing John's cock to leap in his hand. John bit his lip and closed his eyes. Christ, this was the best sex he'd ever had and he wanted…he wanted to tell Rodney the truth, to let himself go, to wake up next to Rodney and then make him another breakfast.

Teyla was right. He was too vulnerable, too raw. The other guys had mocked him; they left dog collars and condoms in his locker. But Teyla had just looked at him quietly, doubting. She knew more than he gave her credit for. She knew how much he needed this kind of connection.

Wiggling free, John worked his way down Rodney's body, no longer thinking about the right thing or the wrong things or the fact that he wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. Mouthing Rodney's hipbone and rubbing himself against the bed, the farthest thing from his mind was the mission. _Fuck_.

Abandoning Rodney just as John's mouth was inches from his cock, John pushed himself up and pulled Rodney upright.

"What? What now?" Rodney gasped.

"I want you to know—" John threaded his hands in Rodney's hair and pulled their faces closer so their foreheads were touching. "I never meant for this to happen." _Please understand,_ he begged silently.

"But-" Rodney's face twisted in confusion.

"Just – this is us, okay?" John kissed him desperately, willing his body to explain where John couldn't. "I never meant for this to happen," he whispered against Rodney's lips, sliding back down the bed and taking Rodney's cock in his mouth in one swift, efficient motion.

Rodney gasped and thrashed, nearly taking John off the bed, but he held tight, sucking, trying to stay coordinated, trying not to choke. He hadn't done this in _years_ , before the military, before the FBI. _Don't think about it_ , he told himself, so he just closed his eyes and gave in, gave in to the feel of a hot, _real_ human body below him, to the feel of Rodney's cock deep in his throat, to the feel of Rodney's hands raking down his shoulders, until his orgasm tore through him like a fighter jet, buckling his knees. He let out a low, thick moan around Rodney's cock.

"Jesus _Christ_!" Rodney's hips stuttered and jerked. "Sorry, sorry," he chanted as he pushed harder into John's throat. "I have to—"

John stroked Rodney's thigh reassuringly with a shaking hand as Rodney came, twisting the sheets and shouting John's name.

After John rolled away to stretch his aching muscles, Rodney grabbed a towel off the floor to clean them off. "I'm exhausted," he announced, then immediately collapsed onto his pillow. He was asleep before John could finish arranging the blankets over them.

John figured it was a bad idea to sleep, but he didn't want to wake Rodney up by leaving, and he was so tired…he could figure things out with just a few minutes of rest…

The first thing John saw when he opened his eyes to see Rodney McKay, snoring slightly and drooling on his pillow. His immediate reaction was to drop an affectionate kiss on Rodney's forehead, but his next, _almost_ -immediate reaction was to jump out of bed so fast he bruised his ass on the dresser.

 _Oh, God,_ he thought. _I just had sex with a man for money._

Okay. Not _really_ for money but, hold on a minute, if the FBI was paying him for this mission, then wasn't he technically…? Shit, he _was_ a hooker. Almost. At the very least, he was losing his mind.

Not comforting. Not comforting at all. And it was even less comforting that the sex had been really good and that Rodney was kind of funny and endearing, and not at all a corporate-spying traitor to his country. At least, John didn't think he was.

The _really_ scary thing was how much he wanted to crawl back into bed. It was pretty nice waking up to someone – on the several disastrous occasions when he'd tried to take women home, the morning cuddling had been the best part. For some reason, John figured that Rodney was only soft and sweet when he was half-asleep. John kind of wanted to get to know that for sure.

Shit, shit, he was not thinking clearly at all. Okay. Rodney's phone records were clean. John's thorough search of the place last night hadn't turned up anything. Now the last piece of evidence was the laptop, and John needed Teyla's help on that one.

Teyla. Crap. He was supposed to check in by ten and it was damn near noon. John was surprised that she hadn't shown up knocking yet. He crept out of Rodney's room, dragging his shorts along the floor with one toe.

Once he got outside Rodney's door, he dashed to his duffel, picked up his equipment, and tossed on a pair of jeans. He had to get out, now, before Teyla came in, guns blazing, to get him out.

Not surprisingly, Teyla was pulling up McKay's long-ass driveway by the time he made it into his pants and out the door.

"Where have you _been_?" Wow, Teyla was _pissed_. Usually, that particular tone of voice was directed at enemies of the state and drug smugglers. John wasn't thrilled with being on the receiving end of it. "Ambassador Halling will be arriving in eight hours."

"It's under control. There were…complications." John struggled to keep his tone neutral, but Teyla knew him too well.

Raising one eyebrow, she nodded. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You're a romantic." She held up a hand to stop his protests. "And you have a kind heart. I knew this assignment would be difficult for you."

This was hitting way too close, and John would bet anything that Teyla knew _how_ close. John jerked a thumb at the house. "Is he clean?"

"Yes. We were able to break Dr. McKay's security measures and access the information on his laptop. We found nothing."

Relaxing slightly, John said, "It doesn't mean he's not involved."

"No, but there is no evidence. What does your gut tell you?" She reached down to her phone and dialed a three-number code. "I have a team at the end of the street. I'm sending them home."

"Good idea." John's gut was telling him that he'd made a big fucking mistake, here. He could still feel Rodney against him. Fuck. "Let's get out of here." He turned to walk down the long driveway.

"Too late," Teyla said softly.

"John?" Rodney came stumbling out of his front door. Wearing only his boxers and plush blue robe, he made his way over to John, wincing and cursing as he walked across the rocks.

"Rodney, listen," John started.

"What the hell is – is she – she's kind of short for a _pimp_ , isn't she?" Rodney's head swiveled back and forth from John to Teyla.

"Rodney, I'm not a prostitute." John shot for what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

"What? What the hell is going on?" Rodney wrapped the robe around himself.

"I'm with the FBI. We –"

"The _FBI_? Am I being _deported_?" Rodney took a step back, horrified.

"No, no. That's the INS."

"Please don't tell me you were searching my – you drank my brandy and you searched my _house_?"

"We're investigating GeniiCorp for—"

"What does that have to do with _seducing_ me?" Rodney began pacing back and forth. "And, forgive me for bringing this up, but 'This is a freebie?' Was breaking my heart part of the deal?" Not—" Rodney jabbed a finger in John's face. "That my heart or any part of my anatomy above my waist is involved. Just – theoretically."

"Rodney, I can—"

And that was when the world exploded.

Light. Heat. Flying. Darkness.

When John came to, he had a mouthful of dirt, there were branches digging into his back, and Rodney's car was on fire.

>>>>

Rodney lurched out of his rosebushes. "You! This! This has been the worst twenty-four hours of my _life_! First I have an agent in hooker's clothing showing up to what? Search my house? And then? Terrorists! My car! What's next? _Aliens_?"

But John wasn't listening to him. He ran over to the front of the car to a small, still form. "Teyla!" He shouted.

Great, now somebody was _dead_. Rodney started to shake. "Is – is she --?"

Bending down and pressing an ear to her chest, John shook his head. "She's breathing."

Rodney slumped onto his front steps. He cradled his head in his hands. "Thank God." Okay. She was alive. He was alive. John was alive and not a hooker.

"Red Team, this is Agent Sheppard. We have an agent down. Repeat, agent down. Please respond." John stared anxiously into the distance, down Rodney's driveway, a walkie-talkie pressed to one ear.

"Roger that," crackled a voice through the speaker. "On our way."

John turned to Rodney. "What would you normally do?"

"What would I normally do when? People don't _normally_ blow up my possessions!"

"No, I mean if I wasn't here." John ran his hands through his hair. "What would you do if the car exploded while you were sleeping? We don't know how much they know."

Rodney tried to picture how the morning could have gone, but his mind kept getting tangled up with John in his sheets. "Uh – call Ronon, I guess. How much _who_ knows?"

At the sight of sleek black sedans and emergency vehicles racing up Rodney's driveway, John seemed to relax. He eased away from Teyla as various medical personnel swarmed around her. "I guess I should explain," he said.

Well, _finally_. "You think?"

"Let's go inside." John nodded to a short, efficient man in a subdued black suit. "All set. Lorne?"

"All set, Agent Sheppard." He gave John the thumbs-up.

John led Rodney back into the house. "Call Ronon, and then I'll explain. Please." John grimaced. "I owe you a lot of explanations."

After calling Ronon and leaving a vaguely panicked message on his voicemail, Rodney walked back into his bizarrely normal kitchen and collapsed into a chair. He was shaky and exhausted. Everything still smelled like French toast and coffee. How long ago was it that John was making him breakfast?

"Rodney. _Rodney_. Snap out of it." John walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Losing it isn't going to help. We don't have much time so you have to listen." John crouched next to him and looked him in the eyes.

"The FBI has been investigating GeniiCorp for the past eighteen months. We suspect that someone on the inside has been selling encryption and data transfer software to a lot of shady customers in Iran, North Korea, the Balkans, you name it. Obviously, this is a concern because—"

"Yes, yes. My technology is bulletproof. They could transmit plans for attacks on the U.S. without the FBI picking it up." Rodney walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup of sludge.

"And we believe they have been. Remember the U.S. embassy bombing in Tashkent last month? We think they pulled that off thanks to GeniiCorp technology." John pressed his mouth in a tight line and walked toward the window. "We received some chatter that there's a plot to assassinate Ambassador Halling. We had good intel, then our sources dried up. A few weeks ago, we got a tip that GeniiCorp employees were directly involved in the plot. The ambassador arrives tonight. That's why this operation was such a priority," he finished quietly.

"Operation." Rodney repeated dully. His technology -- his _baby_ – had killed five Americans and two Italian tourists.

"Rodney," John walked over to him. "We were desperate. We needed to stem the leak. And we thought that – well, you were the one who knew the most about the technology, you're not an American national—"

"Yes. I'm a Canadian terrorist. You caught me."

John continued, ignoring him. "Your home security is, frankly, impressive enough that we wouldn't be able to search your place covertly." John cracked a smile.

"Yeah, well, I'm better funded than the U.S. government," Rodney muttered.

"I don't doubt it. So we needed a way to get to you quickly. When Kolya and Cowen started sniffing around for your, um, present, last week, we figured that this was the perfect opportunity." John couldn't quite look him in the eyes.

"And you martyred yourself for the cause, of course." Okay, so that came out slightly more bitter than Rodney had intended.

"Rodney—" John sounded serious and sorry and Rodney didn't really give a shit, because he wasn't _attached_ or anything. Prostitute or agent, it didn't matter. Rodney didn't even know the guy.

Showing his usual flair for perfect timing, Ronon ran through the open front door. "Doctor McKay – your car—" Wow. He actually looked shocked.

"I know, I know. Ronon, meet Agent John Sheppard, FBI." Rodney waved his hand back and forth between them. "John, Ronon."

"Agent?" Ronon's eyebrow crept up to his hairline.

"Yes, _agent_." John had the nerve to look offended, like Ronon hadn't seen him damn near naked last night. "Listen, as you can see, we have some trouble. We need to act like everything's normal. Are you licensed to carry a firearm?"

Ronon pulled back his leather jacket to reveal a Cobray M11 tucked into a shoulder holster. On a smaller guy, that would have made a hell of a noticeable bulge. But Rodney didn't hire small guys for a reason. "Like this?"

"Uh, wow. Yeah. You're really licensed to carry that?"

"You want to see my license?" Ronon reached for his wallet.

"No." John grinned, and Rodney got a flash of the cocky guy he found in his living room last night. "If you're not licensed, I don't want to know about it. We're going to need you."

"Smart," Ronon agreed.

John said, "Now, Rodney. You usually work on Saturdays, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, get dressed. We're going to GeniiCorp and we're going to figure out exactly who knows what and how much." John nodded at Ronon. "I'll explain on the way."

>>>

Much as John expected, Ronon took the story in stride, without asking a lot of questions. John didn't know where Rodney had found this guy, but he sure knew why he'd keep him around.

Rodney, on the other hand, asked a hundred questions and hypothesized a hundred more suspects by the time they pulled into the driveway of GeniiCrop. John sat in the back with him, careful not to get too close. They still had a lot to talk about, but business came first. He merely contented himself with listening to Rodney's list of possible leaks.

"As much as I'd like to suspect Kavanagh, he's not smart enough."

"Bates. It has to be Bates. He's the kind of guy that writes you up for forgetting one little quarterly report."

"Cadman. She has shifty eyes."

John waited until the stream of names and accusations – stolen donuts, excessive use of sticky notes, "data based in archaic mythology" – came to an end. "Who is it, really?" He asked.

Rodney sighed. "Cowen. Or Kolya. Possibly both."

Nodding, John made a note on his steno pad. "They were next on our list. They have the access and the connections. We weren't sure how much knowledge they had, though."

"They have most of my data." The color was draining from Rodney's face. "My reports --"

Not thinking, John reached out to touch Rodney's knee in comfort. He jerked his hand back when he realized what he was doing, but the damage was done. Rodney gave him a tight, angry look and said, "Do you _mind_?"

"We're here," Ronon interrupted.

"Okay." John straightened up, all business. "Ronon, do you usually go in with Rod – uh, Dr. McKay?"

Ronon shook his head. "I stay in the car."

"That's too bad; we could have used you." John tossed a walkie-talkie to Ronon. "If this activates, even for a second, even if it's just static, call the number on this card. Read them the code off the bottom. Then sit tight and be ready."

"You got it." Ronon took the card.

John turned to Rodney, who looked like he was going to pass out. "Are you okay?"

"Just _peachy_. What exactly are we going to be doing?" Rodney lifted his chin and set his mouth. John tried not to think about kissing him.

 _Later_ , John told himself. They would talk later. "Is there anyone here that you trust without question?"

"Zelenka," Rodney answered promptly. "I'd trust him with anything. I've trusted him with my _laptop_."

"Wow, that _is_ big." John grinned. "We're going in – do you sometimes take visitors in the building with you?"

Rodney nodded. "Yes. Investors, vendors, and so forth. Only when I have to."

"Good. I'm a new vendor. We need to assume they're watching your office and your communications." John checked his ammo and clicked the chamber back into place. "You go to Zelenka and ask him to –"

"I know what to do," Rodney waved an annoyed hand at him. "I can do things with our data that you couldn't conceive of. Do you think I wouldn't put safeguards against this kind of thing?"

"Great. I knew I could count on you." John smiled. Rodney made a pretty damned good partner. "Let's go, and keep it cool."

They made it about halfway up the entrance plaza to GeniiCorp, (a marvel of black granite, flagstone walkways, and the occasional, discreetly-placed bush) when Rodney stopped short and slammed a hand into John's chest. He dragged John behind a large, tastefully subtle piece of sculpture.

"Hey, ow!" John rubbed his breastbone. "What are you doing?" Casually, John scanned the tinted blue windows above them for cameras or snipers.

"I need to know why," Rodney said. He slashed his hand down in front of John's face. "And I'm not going another step until you explain."

" _Now_? Rodney, now is _not_ the time," John hissed.

"Yes, now. It doesn't make sense. Why would you sleep with me when you already had the chance to search the apartment?" Rodney crossed his arms.

 _Shit_. There was no way to get into this quickly and easily. "Rodney…it's complicated." John sighed. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I was just trying to distract you. I—I put a transmitting device on your computer after you logged in—"

"You _what_?"

"It's not going to hurt anything; don't worry." John touched Rodney on the shoulder, but Rodney just walked away, shaking his head. "Things got out of control. I'm sorry. I really do like—"

"You don't know me," Rodney snapped. He fumbled in his coat pockets and pulled out his GeniiCorp ID card. "And I don't know you. So don't try to make it all pretty for me." He shoved the card in the reader. "Let's just get this over with so I can go home."

John wanted to argue, but he couldn't. They needed to complete the mission before more people got hurt. "Right," he said.

They walked through the cavernous, marbled foyer, past the empty reception desk, ("Shouldn't you sign in?" "Since when do I sign in?") and toward the bank of elevators to the rear of the building.

They took the elevator down to the labs, where a small, rumpled man was tapping furiously into a computer. "You are late," he said, with the hint of an accent. _Radek Zelenka_ , John thought. _Czech national. Has lived in the U.S. for seven years. Divorced, one child, Karina, age twelve. Clean driving record, no priors._

"You have no idea," Rodney said, pushing Zelenka out of the chair.

"What? Hey!" Zelenka spotted John. "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's –" Rodney started.

"Agent Sheppard," finished a low, gravelly voice from behind them.

"Kolya," Rodney breathed, as they turned around.

Kolya was standing in front of the elevator, gun in hand, stalking toward them slowly. "Agent John Sheppard. Were you as ineffective a whore as I hoped you'd be?"

"Ineffective?" Rodney laughed.

" _Whore_?" asked Zelenka.

"How did you know?" John said, desperately trying to remember his late-night studies of the GeniiCorp building blueprints.

"I first began to suspect you when you were so…eager to take our assignment. At first, I thought it might be due to the fact that you're slightly, shall we say, past your prime."

"Hey, I _work out_." John said.

"But after a few quick background checks, I realized who you were. I take it our little bomb didn't go off as planned?"

"Oh, it went off." Rodney spit out. "And you owe me a car." Rodney had backed up so he was standing right next to John. Zelenka stood in front of the computer, his knuckles white from gripping the table.

"Did you sleep in, then, Dr. McKay?" Koyla chuckled and tipped his gun toward John. "Congratulations, Agent Sheppard. You must have more skill than I gave you credit for."

"Wait a minute," Rodney said. "Why did you hire me a bad whore?" He gripped John's sleeve.

"I am _not_ a bad whore!" John yelled.

"Exactly," Kolya said. "You're an FBI agent who would fail to seduce Dr. McKay, become convinced of his innocence, and talk him into helping you with the investigation. Sadly, the car bomb failed to rid me of your interference." He raised the gun.

"Is this…does this have to do with the funny data?" Zelenka blurted out.

Kolya swung the gun in his direction. Zelenka began to back up, twitching and bobbing, toward some complicated-looking equipment. "There has been unusual activity all day. I was trying to track it down, and that's why…"

As he went on, John noticed that his twitching seemed to have a purpose. Zelenka kept jerking his head toward a small section of – aha! There was a door, nearly, flush with the wall and painted the same glaring white. John remembered that it led down to the main generators below. _Smart man_ , John thought.

"So, I see that you were behind it all along," Zelenka was continuing. John saw the glint in Kolya's eyes, and he tried to shout in warning, but –

 _Bang!_ Kolya pulled the trigger and Zelenka went down, slumping to the floor. He left a trail of sticky red smeared on the machinery behind him.

"Oh my _God_!" Rodney screamed. "You shot Zelenka!"

"Come _on_." John kicked over the nearest equipment, raised his gun and fired, but Rodney, jumping over the fallen electronics, bumped into his arm at the last second, and he hit something that sizzled and burst into flames. "Shit, Rodney!" The equipment exploded, knocking the gun from his hand.

He grabbed Rodney by the sleeve and yanked him through the door. It was completely dark, but by luck, they stumbled over some ladders that they used to bar the door.

"Now what?" Rodney panted, his voice high and panicky.

"Run," John said, and took off into the darkness.

>>>

Rodney couldn't see anything. He was blind, being led by a crazy FBI agent and being chased by an even-crazier terrorist who had just _shot his best friend._ His side hurt and his lungs hurt and he was scared out of his mind.

There was a faint crackle in front of him as John activated the walkie-talkie. "Now, Ronon!" John whispered, and then Rodney heard a clatter a few feet away.

"What was that?"

"I got rid of the walkie-talkie," John panted. Good. He was out of breath too. "It could give away our location."

"There's…there's a door, not too far down," Rodney stumbled over something on the floor. "If we make it, we'll come out on the side of the building, not far from where Ronon's parked."

"Good," John said. "Let's hope we make it."

"You know, you're not very cheering." Rodney pushed himself a little harder to keep up. "Are you always this optimistic?"

"Like you're a ray of sunshine," John said. Rodney heard a muffled thump and John cursed softly under his breath.

"Like," Rodney gasped. "Like you even know me, _Agent Sheppard_." Rodney chuckled as ironically as he could, considering the state of his lungs. "I can't believe you used your real name. Not very smart, are you?"

Suddenly, the _slap-slap-slap_ of John's steps stopped, and Rodney ran full-force into him.

John clapped his hand over Rodney's mouth, spun him around, and pinned him to the wall.

"Mmmph!" Rodney tried to struggle free. Great. John was crazy. He _knew_ it.

"Shut up," John hissed. "Just shut up for a second and _listen_."

Rodney didn't exactly have a choice, so he tried to nod.

Taking a deep breath, John started whispering so fast that Rodney could barely understand him. "Hi. My name is John Sheppard. I really do like football and fast things. I'm an only child. My dad's in the Air Force and my mom lives in an ashram in India. I was in the Air Force too until I had to watch three of my buddies die in Afghanistan." John stopped and took another, shaky breath and pressed closer, his knee bumping into Rodney's. Rodney didn't move a muscle. All he could hear was John's harsh breathing and his own heartbeat.

"I joined the agency right after that. I'm 38. I like steak better than pizza and I hate anything with mushrooms. I snore. And—" He let go of Rodney's mouth. "I'd really, really like to take you to dinner when this is all over."

Rodney swallowed hard. "Oh."

Distant shouts came from above them. "Shit," John said. "Keep moving."

They untangled from each other and pushed forward. Rodney's mind kept spinning around, looping back and forth from last night to this morning to now, threading together with the image of Kolya, gun glinting in his hand, and Zelenka, pale and still on the floor.

A burst of light blinded him, and he shielded his eyes as they spilled out into the late afternoon sun. John didn't stop at all, but burst into a sprint toward the front parking lot.

"Christ," Rodney muttered. The guy had to be an athlete too, didn't he? Not that Rodney hadn't noticed that already.

There was a crash behind him. Rodney didn't think; he just started running. He turned his head just enough to see Kolya behind him, raising his arm…

"Fuck!" Rodney yelled, and dropped to the ground. The bullet sounded like it was exploding in his head, but there was no immediate bodily damage, so he assumed that Kolya missed.

Another shot exploded above him and he covered his head with his hands. When his ears stopped ringing, he looked up to see John standing in front of him, mouth set in a grim like, with a smoking gun in his hand.

"Where have you been?" Rodney asked, dusting himself off. "Cutting it a little close, were we?"

"Oh, you're welcome for saving your _life_ , Rodney." John held his hand out and pulled Rodney up.

"Yes, thank you, fine." Rodney muttered. "Zelenka--?"

"Ronon called right when I contacted him. They sent a team in." John brushed a stray piece of grass off of Rodney's jacket. "That's all I know."

The GeniiCorp parking lot looked like the set of _CSI_ , with cops and feds and emergency personnel crawling all over the place. "Tell me I can go home," Rodney said.

"I can tell them that I'm going to debrief you on the ride back, and that you'll be in tomorrow to give a more detailed statement." John led him back to the car, where Ronon was watching the goings-on with little interest.

Rodney collapsed into the backseat. The frantic noise of the outside activity dulled to a low hum as soon as Ronon clicked the door closed. The quiet and the feel of the plush seat were an almost orgasmic combination. Rodney could feel himself relaxing for the first time in twenty-four hours.

It seemed like a long time before John came back – Rodney had almost fallen asleep. "Hey," John said. "Zelenka's going to be okay."

"Thank God," Rodney said.

They set out for Rodney's house in silence. This had to have been, Rodney reflected, the worst day of his entire life. Really, Rodney had never thought anything would beat his Grade Seven holiday dance, but today was definitely one for the record books.

He turned to look at John, who was curled up next to the window and nodding off. He looked small and bruised. Rodney remembered this morning, John's whispered pleas. _I never meant for this to happen._

Okay, so maybe the day hadn't been a complete loss.

Rodney opened his mouth. "There's a place in the Valley," he said. John jerked awake and looked at him, confused. "They're not that popular, but they make a hell of a steak." John grinned, the smile spreading slowly across his face. "And don't think," Rodney continued, "that just because you're a public servant you're getting out of paying. I didn't exactly get my money's worth last night."

"Technicaly, Kolya paid."

"Well, then," Rodney smirked. "He _really_ didn't get his money's worth."


End file.
